I do not know a sweeter sound
Than rain upon the thirsty ground;
A lovelier sight I’ll never see
Than sunlight on a cherry tree;
I cannot feel a gentler hand
Than nature’s on a temperate land.
There may be tunes as yet unheard,
That will confound the listener’s word;
There may be beauties to eclipse
The glories of the Apocalypse;
There may be hands as soft as snow
To place upon my fevered brow.
Let them be heard, be seen, be felt;
They cannot my proud spirit melt
As does the unconsidered art
With which sweet nature plays her part,
And the wind that whispers in the trees
Is lovelier than man’s melodies.
And that which comes because it must,
Divinely raised from fertile dust
To serve some purpose in a scheme,
Be it as fragile as a dream,
Can fill the mind with untold joy
That man can never quite destroy.
And man himself was made to serve,
And give springs of life and verve;
Fulfilling most when most attune,
To the high will of God Triune,
More lovely than the loveliest flower
When dedicated to that Power.
Weekly Times 18.8.61